Page 18

The light from the hallway falls on my face, burning my eyes all over again. Mr. Sinclair is still cloaked by darkness, like a phantom who only comes alive at night.

My heart pounds faster as I stand in his shadow.

His dark gaze pins me in place.

It feels like he can see right through me. I’m very aware that I have someone’s diary pressed against my waist. If he can make out the outline of the book, it’ll be the end of me.

Men like him can make sure that I never find another job again.

“Do you really expect me to believe you weren’t snooping around, Miss Turner?”

“I swear that the noise caught my attention,” I say. “Otherwise, I never would have stepped foot inside this room.”

“You shouldn’t have entered it regardless,” he says. “You have no business in here.”

He walks toward the window and seals it shut.

The strangest sensation crawls down my spine. I feel like I’m being watched even though Mr. Sinclair has his back to me.

I keep my eyes on his broad shoulders. Just looking at him makes my breasts feel heavy. I avert my gaze before I get too carried away by the feelings he evokes in me.

My eyes land on the portrait of him with his sister.

There’s something enchantingly eerie about it.

I focus on Mr. Sinclair. He’s younger here. He has the scar, but there was a light in his eyes that’s absent now. It almost makes him look like a completely different person.

I look at his sister. She has the most alluring eyes I’ve ever seen on a person.

Mr. Sinclair clears his throat.

“Your sister was stunning,” I say, glancing over at him.

“That she is,” he replies.

He spoke about her in the present tense. I watch the emotions play out on his face as he realizes his mistake. I guess it’s a common mistake to make.

“Little Rosalie looks so much like her mother already,” I say gingerly. “She’ll grow up to look just like her.”

He sucks in a breath like I’ve just punched him in the chest. I catch a whiff of that perfume again. The sweet vanilla scent makes me feel bolder.

I wonder if it’s his perfume. It smells like a woman’s, but maybe his cologne has notes of vanilla and flowers. I move closer toward him.

He snaps out of his reverie and narrows his eyes at me.

“What are you doing, Emma?” he asks.

I only took a few steps, but my heart seems to think I’m putting it through a triathlon. I cross the remaining distance between us until I’m standing directly in front of him.

His warmth envelops me like a lover’s caress.

Standing before him feels like basking in the sun after a long snowstorm. His glow warms me up from the inside. It makes me feel like everything will be alright again.

His eyes flick down my body.

And just like that, I’m burning.

My nipples are painfully hard against my bra. Insatiable heat forms between my thighs.

He’s looking at me like he knows all about the effect he has on me.

I take a deep breath. I don’t smell vanilla or flowers on him. He smells like pure testosterone. He smells like a man in his prime.

“Is it okay if I ask you a question?” I say.

“If it’s about my sister, then no,” he says.

“It’s about the kids,” I say. “I wanted to talk to you about all the classes they’re taking.”

“What about the classes?” He crosses his arms.

He’s defensive already. Perhaps now isn’t the best time to bring this up, but this man is so elusive that I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

“It’s great that you’re keeping the kids busy and exposing them to a wide range of interests,” I say.

“Get to the fucking point, Emma,” he says.

I stare at him. Fine.

“I think it’s too much,” I say. “Having two or three classes is great, but filling their schedule from dawn to dusk is a bit much. I think you should talk to the kids about whether they’re even enjoying all the classes in the first place.”

“Did they say that it’s too much?” he asks.

“No, but?—”

“Then I don’t want to hear about it,” he says. “If the children have a problem with their classes, they’ll speak with me directly.”

“How? They barely ever get the chance to see you,” I say.

His eyes flash with anger. I went too far. I know it. But it’s not like I can take the words back.

He moves closer. His body emits heat like a furnace, making all of my muscles relax. My head swims with too many thoughts.

“How many times do I need to remind you of where you stand, Miss Turner?” he says.

His words are derogatory. Hurtful. But I see through them. I see all the way down to the man who’s hurting so badly. He doesn’t need to say a word for me to understand him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice softer now.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like you’re trying to see the good in me,” he snarls. “Because you won’t find any.”

There’s a bond between us that transcends time and space. I don’t need to say a word for him to understand me. He reads me like an open book.

I swallow. “The kids didn’t seem excited about their weekend classes.I’m sure you have their best interests at heart, so talk to them about whether they enjoy all those classes.”

We’re standing way too close to each other.

He’s scrutinizing me in a way that makes me wonder if he even heard a word I just said.

“Do you have more questions for me, Miss Turner?” he asks.

“Actually, I do,” I say.

He stares at me expectantly.

I should keep my mouth shut. But like always, my curiosity gets the best of me.

“What happened to the last nanny?” I ask.

He blinks. He wasn’t expecting me to confront him about this.

“Her name was Harper, right?” I ask. “I heard that she disappeared after a week of working here.”

“You seem to believe you have all the answers,” he replies. “What do you think happened to her?”

My heart is pounding in my ribcage now. There’s a darkness in his eyes that promises to suffocate anyone who dares to look at him for too long.

“There are so many rumors about your family,” I say. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“How about you just do what you’re paid for and leave it at that?” he says.

With every breath I take, my ribs brush against the book I’m still holding.

Maybe it will have the answers I seek.

The grandfather clock from downstairs starts chiming, letting me know that I will be late for the club if I don’t leave right now.

“I’ll be back Sunday evening,” I say, giving him a small smile.

He’s blocking the path to the door, but he doesn’t step away from me. Instead, he watches me like a predator playing with its prey before delivering the final strike.

“Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair,” I say, walking around him.

As I walk past him, our arms brush against each other. Electricity singes my skin, traveling all the way down to my toes.

He goes very still.

I glance back at him, but my eyes catch on the portrait.

His sister seems to be watching us from the portrait. It feels like her eyes are tracking me as I leave.

A disquieting feeling settles over me as I walk away from the room.

This house is cloaked in mystery. I don’t know if I will ever get to the bottom of it. I don’t know if I’ll end up being buried underneath all its secrets.